


Mona Lisas and Mad Matters

by jewboykahl



Category: South Park
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - College/University, Creek Week 2020, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Meet-Cute, cutie pie craig, punk Tweek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-26
Updated: 2020-10-26
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:47:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27203368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jewboykahl/pseuds/jewboykahl
Summary: CREEK WEEK 2020: DAY ONE - TATTOO/PUNKIt was Tweek's first concert post-COVID-19 and his anxiety was getting the better of him. Luckily, a cute security guard named Craig was on break.
Relationships: Craig Tucker/Tweek Tweak
Comments: 21
Kudos: 47
Collections: sp creek server does creek week 2020





	Mona Lisas and Mad Matters

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ambercreek95](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ambercreek95/gifts).



> okkkk so first of all I was lazy and set this in ohio where i live bc i didn't want to research a colorado college so i'm sorry  
> second of all, thank you SO MUCH to ambercreek95 for helping me with this fic and for introducing me to creek week and a whole bunch of amazing creekers! u are my muse amber, so this goes to you! <3  
> & thank you so much also to Tweekscoffeebean for your help as well!  
> you two are the tweek and craig to my clyde <3  
> also thank you to the support for the discord server, yall have been so inspiring and wonderful!! and special shout out to xenolith1245 for setting it all up & being our fearless leader (;  
> i hope yall enjoy my self-indulgent elton john themed punk tweek story (-:

Creek Week 2020—Day 1: Tattoo | Punk

(for ambercreek95)

It had seemed like centuries since Tweek had seen so many bodies lined up, eagerly awaiting some exciting event (other than to get into Bath & Body Works at the mall). To his left was one of the fans, and his best friend, jittering from a combination of excitement and the cold, February weather biting at their exposed skin. Ohio’s cold season was a major step-up from the intense Rocky Mountain climate their home town cursed them with growing up, though he could not seem to stop shivering beneath his layered ensemble: corduroy button-down and his oversized, patch-covered jean jacket, and the black, cotton mask covering his mouth and nose.

“You know you don’t have to wear that thing, right?” Stan commented, pointing a glove-clad hand his at his face, “I’m sure everyone’s gotten the vaccine by now.”

“I completely and utterly doubt that. You know how many fucking rednecks live around here,” Tweek scoffed. His amber eyes surveyed the slowly moving queue leading up to the Schottenstein Center where one of Stan’s favorite bands, Bring Me the Horizon, was set to perform soon. Ever since shows began playing again at the arena so close to where the boys stayed, Stan had been begging Tweek to accompany him to finally enjoy live music. None of Stan’s fellow college football stars were keen on skipping a night of drinking with the frat kids to appease his craving for concerts, either. Tweek could not refuse providing him companionship when one of his most talked about artists since middle school booked a gig on a night that Stan had no prior sport-related commitments, despite being overcome with paranoia at the prospect of lingering COVID-riddled Ohioans. Though the arena was a considerable walk from the residence halls, the lack of fellow-mask wearers made him strongly consider sprinting back to his dorm and locking the door, keeping the diseased idiots at bay. Even hooking his finger beneath the face covering to adjust his black nose ring made him uneasy that germs would bust through the small opening.

Stan rolled his eyes past Tweek’s concerns and draped an arm around his blond friend’s shoulder, asking in a more serious connotation, “Are you gonna be alright?”

Sucking in a shaky breath, he nodded, “Yeah, man, I’ll be fine. You know me, just… Paranoid,”

“I know, and I know this is your first big crowd since things went back to normal. If you’re overwhelmed just let me know, okay? Seeing this band isn’t worth letting you have an anxiety attack.”

Tweek grinned at his friend’s unwavering compassion for his condition. “Thanks, Stan. I want you to have a good time, though! Your season’s finally over, you get to see some great live music.”

Stan quirked an eyebrow, “You think they’re _great_?”

“Well, yeah! Uh, I mean, they’re not my _usual_ genre,” Tweek sputtered, tip-toeing over the fact that he was never keen on Stan’s affinity towards the deathcore scene, “But I do like their new stuff a lot!”

“Sure you do, you punk rocker,” Stan chuckled, removing his hand to adjust the red, Ohio State breakaway beanie atop his head.

What felt like a lifetime later but was only about a half-hour, Tweek and Stan had made it to the front of the line. As the security personnel scanned the ticket QR codes on Stan’s iPhone, Tweek made pointed eye-contact with him for a brief, blissful second. A pair of deep, beautiful eyes from an even more attractive face lingered on the only part of Tweek’s face that was left unprotected. Suddenly he wished Coronavirus has not rendered him a borderline germaphobe so that the impossibly tall, gorgeous, dark-haired man could have seen the quick, flirtatious smile that darted across his lips for him.

“Damn, he was hot,” Tweek settled on muttering to Stan as they pressed on towards the heart of the venue. He earned an eyebrow waggle from his friend before the subject was forgotten.

Increasing discomfort for the situation boiled within Tweek. Increasing discomfort for the situation boiled within Tweek. Crowds never used to bother him, until two years ago, at the beginning of the hellacious nightmare that was 2020 and a pandemic that devastated the world. It flipped Tweek’s entire world upside down, his first year at college brought to a standstill by massive lockdowns and public emergency nightmares. Tweek got so accustomed to being paranoid of contamination, wearing protective gear and keeping six feet away from others, that being completely engulfed in a sea of uncovered faces had the first telltale signs of panic crawling up his spine.

Sensing his friend’s tenseness, Stan hooked their arms together and gave the blond a half-smile. Mismatched mental disorders made the pair hypersensitive of one another’s bouts of high anxiety or depressive lows, so it had been a few weeks that he was feeling pretty overprotective of Tweek’s struggles to return to normal with the rest of the world. “Hanging in there, bud?”

Tweek nodded in affirmation despite feeling like he could snap at any moment. The layers he had wrapped himself in to combat the cold were becoming suffocatingly hot as the two continued to press on towards the floor of the arena. When they arrived at their destination, the set-up of the floor section became deeply troubling to him, “There’s no chairs?”

“Hell nah, man,” Stan laughed, raising his hand and yanking the beanie from his head, immediately looking much more in place with his messy, black fringe on display. “This is a mosh pit.”

Tweek did not like the sound of that. Fear threatened to sting tears in his eyes, but he remained rooted to the spot, chatting noncommittally with Stan as more and more bodies filed into the area that was somehow growing smaller. By the time the opening band took the stage, he swore all the walls had pushed themselves in on one another.

Though he did his best to ignore it through the entirety of the first set, the lack of mobility without being pressed against a complete stranger in combination with the booming music caused Tweek’s chest to tighten. His fingers went numb as they trembled, hanging limply at his sides. Eyes watering, he gazed at his friend, who had been enjoying whatever music was emitting from the equipment fifty feet ahead of where they stood. Shame flooded over him, finishing the job of coloring his cheeks red. He couldn’t decide if it would disappoint Stan more for him to step out of the venue or to have his panic attack right where they stood.

“Hey, I-I gotta use the bathroom,” Tweek essentially screamed in Stan’s ear to be heard over the roaring crowd and music.

Stan gave him a nod of understanding, though the crease in his eyebrows gave away his suspicions, “I’ll come,”

“No, no, no,” the blond protested, rejecting the outstretched hand, “You’ll lose your spot! I’ll be fine!”

Stan’s response was lost in the sea of people as Tweek had already whirled around to escape. He fought tooth and nail against the tears that wanted so badly to spill over his burning cheeks as he pushed past limb after limb, dodging protesting groans from uncovered mouths and noses.

Finally free from the crowd, he sucked in a dramatic breath of air, as if his life depended on it. He staggered around the much less populous corridors of the center in search of the restroom, praying to whoever was listening that they were some degree of inhabited. It was embarrassing enough to brush past people and pretend that he was not actively in panic mode.

What felt like hours later, Tweek found a restroom and slipped behind the door, making a beeline for an abandoned stall and swiftly closing himself inside. He yanked the black mask from his face and let out the strangled breath he had been holding in to maintain his composure. Mortified by the sound, he cupped a hand over his mouth and squeezed his eyes shut as a last-ditch effort to contain the waterworks. It was in vain as the tears finally spilled down his face. His chest heaved rapidly. The rise and fall of his shoulders matched his inability to catch his breath.

Tweek thought bitterly about how long it had been since he found himself hyperventilating in a public restroom. He supposed it was about time as he desperately attempting to distract his mind with breathing and grounding techniques.

_The floor is cream-colored tile…_

_It smells like sweaty balls…_

_I taste my own blood… Did I bite my lip?_

_Don’t worry about that… I feel the pins on my jacket…_

_I hear a really monotone voice…_

“Is everything okay in here?”

Heart dropping to the base of his stomach, Tweek’s eyes flashed open wide. He called back, “Uh… are you talking to me?”

“If you are the guy having a meltdown in the second stall, then yeah.”

Scrunching his nose at the brash reply, Tweek unwittingly converted some of his nervous energy into anger. He scoffed, “Yeah, I’m fucking fine, asshole.”

The voice merely chuckled in reply. More nervous energy became anger.

Slamming the stall door ajar, Tweek seethed without looking, “What’s so fucking funny?”

When the owner of that monotone, nasally voice was revealed, his heart fell even further. His furrowed brow relaxed at the sight of that giant, extremely attractive security guard. An amused smile ghosted his lips, pretty brown eyes trained on Tweek’s erratic state.

“Nothing funny,” the man countered, eyeing Tweek’s alternative attire. A pierced nose and eyebrow were enough to confirm why he was there, but the band shirt that did not reference an edgy, deathcore design, baggy blue jeans with two giant holes for knees and Sharpied words covering the thighs, and beat-up, black ankle boots made him seem more of a member of a different crowd—especially considering the myriad of leftist propaganda displayed on his jacket, including a huge BLM fist patch sewn onto his pocket. “Just thought I should check on you. I know a thing or two about over-excited fans.”

“I’m not a _fan_ ,” Tweek grumbled, confirming the other man’s suspicions. The urge to free his sweaty skin from his heavy jacket suddenly overwhelmed him. As he tied the jean jacket around his waist, he finished his sentence, “My friend is. I-I don’t even want to be here.”

“Hey, it’s alright, man,” The security guard assured Tweek, taking experimental steps in his direction. Tweek was confused by this reaction until he peered down to find his arms trembling profusely.

“I don’t want to be here,” He repeated dumbly, his brain and mouth finally disconnecting. His lip fell into a pout, watery stare fixed on the floor as flung off his gloves, “I don’t like all these people around me,”

The man nodded in agreement, silently admiring the tattoos littering the man’s forearms when he pushed up the sleeves of his corduroy flannel. Considering the beads of sweat glistening against his forehead, his shaking body, and the look of wild uncertainty in his eyes, it was clear that he was having some sort of anxiety attack. He spoke calmly to the sputtering man, “It’s okay. You aren’t in the crowd anymore.”

The matter-of-fact statement strangely helped. Tweek darted his eyes to his uniformed companion and squinted to see the name _Craig Tucker_ printed beside a tiny, uninterested looking photograph of him on his badge. He breathed, “I have to go back, though,”

“Why?” Craig asked. He spoke as though everything was set on stone— _simple_.

Tweek’s frustration with him bubbled up again, “ _Ngh_ , because my friend is in there! He’s all by himself and he’s going to be so pissed at me for leaving because I’m neurotic and can’t handle fucking people all around me!”

“I’m sure your friend will understand that you felt overwhelmed,” the guard continued to reason.

Neither understood why he was lingering in the restroom, doing his best to calm this sputtering, jittery person down, and Tweek could genuinely not decide if he was relieved or annoyed by the presence. Each time he caught a glimpse of his handsome face, however, it was the first. He asked anyway, “Wh-Why are you helping me?”

Craig let his gaze roll over Tweek’s face, utterly amazed at how adorable he looked even in crisis. Though when he saw the man enter the arena and he wished he weren’t wearing a mask, in that moment he regretted the circumstances of enjoying the sight of his previously hidden pointy, freckle-splayed nose and pouty, pink lips. He shrugged, “I guess it is sort of my job. More so, I’m not a total dick that is just going to ignore the fact that you are freaking out.”

Tweek chewed and swallowed the response, wondering if Craig’s nasally tone was actually sexy or if the hyperventilating had made him dazed and confused. Either way, he longed to hear more words fall from his lips. He prompted, “It’s your job to help random kids through panic attacks?”

Craig chuckled again, this one much more appreciate than the first, “It is now at least.”

Tweek cracked a smile at this. Eventually, a slow laugh started in the back of his throat. The presence of the uniformed man put him at inexplicable ease—he had never known a time in which he found his center so quickly. Though not all of his symptoms of panic subsided, he felt infinitely better. “You probably deserve a raise.”

“Probably?” Craig challenged, stashing his hands into the pocket of his navy slacks. The action made Tweek notice that his legs went on forever. Realizing the man had to be a considerable amount taller than him, he felt himself melt a little.

“Definitely,” Tweek amended, laughing lightly again. “You definitely deserve a raise.”

Wetting his smile, Craig pushed himself off the sink and tilted his head toward the entrance of the bathroom, “Do you think it would help you calm down to get some fresh air? Where it doesn’t smell like ass,”

“That’s the best idea I’ve heard all night,” Tweek breathed a sigh of relief and began tracing out of the restroom, looping his mask back over his ears. The booming bass of the defeating music grows louder as he follows the uniform past scattered people waiting in various concession lines. He had never been inclined to trust anyone of remote authority (though a ticket scanner with no weapons was hardly in charge), but something about Craig made him feel at ease—or, he had just officially lost his mind and he was allowing this man to kidnap him.

The pair reached an exit, taking them to the side of the venue. When solitude found him again, he tore the mask from his face, enjoying the ability to deeply inhale the crisp air of the cold night. He ignored the goosebumps that pinpricked his bare skin.

“Do you smoke?” Craig asked, removing a pack of Camels from his jacket’s pocket, along with a knit beanie. Tweek forgot to answer, watching him place a cigarette between his lips and the winter hat over his straight, black fringe. His arched brows told him to respond.

“Oh, uh, no,”

“You probably should,” his comment was muffled as he flicked his lighter, pressing the flame against the cigarette.

The first and last time he had tried a puff of a cigarette was from Stan’s chain-smoking boyfriend, Kenny, who teased him relentlessly for the exaggerated coughing he choked out as a result. He disregarded Craig’s suggestion and focused on soothing those alarms that remained screaming in his head.

A few moments of comfortable silence passed between the pair, the sounds of night life emitting from the arena behind them. Tweek lifted his slightly watery gaze to find that Craig had finished his cigarette and stamped out the small blaze with his boot. Embarrassment had finally caught up with him thanks to the realization that he had just let a complete stranger help him through an episode. He cleared his throat, stowed his gaze away, “Thanks for, uh… Making sure I’m okay.”

“No worries,” Craig replied, the next part slowly, “Do you feel better?”

Tweek nodded, yanking his sleeves back down over his painted arms, the cold also catching up with him. “Yeah, I just… I’m not used to being around so many fucking people anymore,”

“Me neither,” the other man revealed, effectively catching his attention, “The first gig I came back for, I freaked out, too. I had to take an extra break to calm down.”

Though he was a bit surprised by Craig being so forthcoming, but appreciated the validity, “I mean, after all the social distancing and the mask mandates, I just got so used to keeping away from people and this… This was just so overwhelming,”

Craig frowned, “Why’d you come?”

Tweek sighed, “My friend really likes this band and he’s been begging me to come see a concert with him. The whole COVID bullshit was really, really hard on him and he’s been craving normalcy so I wanted to do this for him, but I just can’t,”

His chest began heaving again. Craig’s presence entered his bubble, gingerly coaxing him back into calmness with his even tone, “Don’t worry, you don’t have to go back.”

“But I need to!” the blond cried, “Stan’s in there all alone! I’m such a fucking idiot,”

“Well, I don’t know if that is true or not, but you seem pretty cool. I think your friend will understand.”

Tweek crinkled his nose at him, “You think I might be stupid?”

“To be fair,” he chuckled, “I don’t even know your name.”

“It’s Tweek,” Craig inadvertently let his eyebrows crease in confusion, a reaction to his name he had grown quite accustom to, “Yeah, I know, it’s a stupid name.”

“No, no, I just… You’re the first Tweek I’ve ever met,” Craig amended, a bit embarrassed, “I’m Craig, which you may have already read,”

Tweek nodded as Craig tugged on his badge. “You’re the first Craig I’ve ever met. Though, you don’t really seem like a Craig,”

“What, do I seem like an _Alejandro_?”

Shooting his eyes wide open, Tweek’s white guilt immediately ignited. He had barely even considered the other man’s brown complexion until that moment, when he sputtered, “Oh, god, no! I just meant, like… I don’t know, you’re really, uh… I don’t know what I mean, I’m sorry,”

Craig simpered at him with a softness he felt that he did not deserve. It became another feature of his new companion’s that rendered his knees jelly. “I’m just messing with you. Craig is a ridiculous name.”

“I definitely didn’t say that,” Tweek chuckled nervously, wrapping his arms around himself. The sun had dipped behind the horizon, leaving a pale, crescent moon to reflect its light in the misty, dark sky. Beside the rave occurring inside, the night was still. The sound of cars veering was muffled by distance, and the wind carried on softly.

Craig was usually mesmerized by the comforting blackness of the night sky, but that day, it was the artificial flood lights illuminating Tweek’s adorable face that he couldn’t take his eyes off of. The blond’s soft features directly contradicted his dark, abrupt clothing style. His pointy nose was adorned with tiny, pale freckles, and his giant, greenish brown eyes held a kindness and innocence that seemed like an antonym for the anarchy symbol on his breast pocket. Though the piercings, tattoos, and grunge-y style were appealing, Craig found his preference in the delicate curves of the other man’s face. He struck up another conversation, “So, you don’t care for the band?”

“I think they’re pretty good,” Tweek shrugged. “Not really my style, but I like them.”

Craig pointed at his t-shirt, “Not quite political enough for you?”

Forgetting what band he was supporting, he glanced down to find his worn-out Sex Pistols shirt. He granted Craig a smirk, “I am a little more into rock than emo.”

“I can tell.”

Though it did not seem like a positive response, the remaining benevolence of Craig’s stare assured him that it was no insult. “At least we can tolerate each other’s music, ‘cause nobody else I know can stand mine.”

“I think punk’s definitely an acquired taste,” Craig pulled out a pair of gloves from his deep coat pocket as he continued, “What do you like about it?”

“I don’t know, I just like how raw it is. It’s not trying too hard to by symbolic, it’s just catchy and talks about really important shit. Plus, the subculture is just really fascinating and inspiring,” He explained, feeling like a combination of a fanboy and like he had been talking about himself forever. He asked, “What do you listen to?”

The taller man shrugged, allowing his back to press against the concrete brick wall behind him. “I listen to everything every now and then.”

A vibrating in Tweek’s jacket captured his attention from Craig for the first time since he had managed to stop panicking. He reached for the phone in his pocket, just missing a call from _Stan the Man._ Instead of returning the call, he shot his friend a message that he would be heading back to find him shortly. He gave Craig a non-verbal apology with a sheepish grin before posing a follow-up question, “What’s, like, your favorite band, then?”

“Have you ever heard of Panic! At the Disco?”

Tweek snorted, “Of course I have, I’m gay.”

Craig cracked a smile—one that stretched across his cheeks, scrunching his eyes and nose. Tweek could scream at how cute it was. “I hoped you were. I mean, thought. You know, from your rainbow pin.”

“You hoped?” Tweek drawled, heartrate increasing at the budding of flirtatious dialogue, drinking in every second of Craig becoming a bit flustered. “Does that make you gay, too?”

Craig nodded in confirmation, wetting his lips and letting his gaze fall away. “You’re one of the very few people who know that, but yeah.”

“I won’t tell your other security guard friends.” Tweek promised jokingly.

“Fuck them, anyways,” Craig rolled his eyes at the thought of his meathead coworkers having a field day with gay jokes and teasing. “I’m just here part time to get through college.”

Tweek quirked an eyebrow at him, “Do you go here?”

“Yep. Graphic design,” Craig revealed, then returned the inquiry, “You?”

“Psychology. Social work,” at that point in school, starting off the sentence with _My major is_ was beyond him. His chosen field of study had become a solid part of his identity after years of people repeatedly asking and hardly interacting with anyone who was not also studying the human mind. “Minor in Critical Race Theory.”

“Nice,” Craig complimented. “What about your friend?”

“I think accounting? I don’t know, he’s quarterback of the football team, so that’s what actually matters,”

Craig’s eyes went wide with realization, “Wait—you said Stan, right?”

“Yep, Stan Marsh.”

“Stan Marsh is one of the best college football players in the country,” Craig told him something he already knew, adding a comment he was not expecting, “And he’s in there rocking out to screamo music?”

Tweek let out a laugh, “That’s Stan for you. He’s a walking contradiction.”

“So you guys are like… just friends?”

Nodding and grinning at Craig’s obvious but charmingly innocent attempt to confirm his relationship status, Tweek replied, “Yeah, no, since birth. Plus, he has a boyfriend, and I’m single,”

“Me too,” Craig revealed, not sure why. He worried his lip with his teeth, gaze trained on the abandoned cigarette butt he nudged with the toe of his boot. “The single part,”

“Thank God,” Tweek spoke, an attempt equally geared toward soothing Craig’s nerves and to make it quite plain that he was interested. “The hot ones are usually either straight or taken.”

“I’m glad you don’t fall into either of those categories.” Craig quipped back. He hid his smile by lowering his head, removing his pack of cigarettes from his coat pocket. Routinely flipping the cardboard lid up and removing a stick, he addressed Tweek again, “You sure you don’t want one?”

“Fuck it,” Tweek shrugged, accepting the gesture, not entirely sure why. It just felt right given the unusual circumstances of his situation. The man was hiding outside from essentially a party with a complete stranger—and he felt insurmountably more at ease. He placed the cigarette between his lips and relayed a thought that popped into his head, “Shouldn’t you be working?”

Craig leaned into Tweek, flicking his small, black Bic lighter and cupping a hand over the flame to keep the slight breeze form whispering it away. Tweek’s breath hitched at the closeness of the man before him, unable to stare anywhere but directly at his handsome, tan face and all its elusive sweetness. His eyes flipped up to grace his undeserving hazels with attention, making the small hitch form a full on lump.

“I get an hour break,” Craig revealed, then tugged a small iPhone from his uniform pants. “I have a half-hour left.”

“We’ve been out here for a half-hour?” Tweek questioned, taking noncommittal puffs of the cigarette burning between his fingers. He prayed Craig didn’t notice the minuscule amounts of smoke he was inhaling as he watched him take long, borderline hungry drags.

Craig shrugged, “I guess so. Lost counting talking about life and music and staring at you.”

Tweek smiled at this, the task of channeling all of his pubescent lust for the man standing opposite of him into his gaze overriding smoking his cigarette. He ashed it clumsily when necessary. “I forgot to ask if you like the band playing… probably now,”

A pang of guilt went unacknowledged when he listened to Craig’s reply. “Not really. I mean, they aren’t the worst, but it is too heavy for me.”

“Besides the gay band, what do you listen to?”

Craig chuckled lightly at the terminology, “I don’t know, it depends on what mood I’m in. I kind of just like songs more than artists or bands, but I have a few favorites. A lot of it is probably embarrassing.”

“No music is embarrassing to like,” Tweek assured him, the philosophy immediately rendering criticism.

“What if I told you I exclusively listen to children’s nursey rhymes?”

“I… Okay, there are exceptions, whatever,” Tweek scoffed, dropping the butt of his neglected cigarette to the concrete. “ _Do_ you listen to exclusively children’s nursey rhymes?”

“Surprisingly no,” he deadpanned, “Lately it’s been a lot of 70s and 80s music. Which might be equally lame.”

“Are you kidding me?! Punk was invented in the 70s, man! I hardly listen to anything recorded past the 90s,” The blond assured him, tugging on his band shirt subconsciously to punctuate his point.

Craig perked his head to the side, sucking in his last puff of nicotine before stomping out the butt again. “I’m talking, like… Starship, though.”

“Oh,” Tweek could not resist the short giggle that came along with his response. He quickly amended, “They aren’t bad!”

Craig shook his head, smiling, “Don’t patronize me, Tweek.”

“I’m not! I like _We Built This City_! Plus, 70s-80s pop can be really good,”

“I don’t believe that you like any pop,” Craig argued, gesturing to the deeply alternative look he had subscribed to.

“No, it’s true! Just because I protest and only wear clothes my friends make me doesn’t mean I _only_ listen to people singing about over-throwing the government,” Tweek relayed, making Craig laugh, then added for clarification, “I mean, I don’t listen to a lot of it, but I really love Elton John. Ever since I was little. My parents really liked him, so I was kinda groomed to.” His tone turned bitter at the mention of his parents. He shook his head, as if physically pushing the thoughts aside.

Craig noticed the lag, and went on encouragingly, “Elton is really good. I like some of his older stuff.”

“His older stuff is the best,” Tweek agreed, a warm smile stretching across his face. “I’ve never met anyone else our age who likes him. What songs do you like?”

“Me neither,” Craig addressed the first part of the reply with a returning smile. He had noticed a cramping sensation in his cheeks—it had been a while since he had worked out those muscles that formed these content grins Tweek was forcing him to take on. “I really like ‘Rocket Man’ because who doesn’t? But I honestly think my favorite is one called ‘Mona Lisas and Mad Hatters’,”

Tweek’s face brightened even more at the revelation, “I love that song!”

“Dude,” Craig plunged his hand back into the pocket of his work pants, tugging out his iPhone and a pair of white earbuds to accompany them. Wordlessly, he unlocked the device and swiped past a few apps before turning it around to show Tweek the songs they were discussing already cued up. “I started listening to it when I found you in the bathroom.”

Ignoring the embarrassment of their interaction’s origin, Tweek granted him a sweet smile, experimentally taking the earbuds from Craig’s grasp and sticking a side in his left ear, “Play it for me, I haven’t heard it in forever.”

It had been an excruciatingly long time since Craig had allowed anyone (let alone a stranger) to enter his personal bubble, and his stomach twisted pleasantly at the closeness of the flawless fellow college student he felt like he had known his whole life despite only being acquainted for less than an hour. There was this aura of mutual ease that befell them, making Craig not even question the request. He placed the twin bud in his ear and pressed tapped on his phone to restart the song.

Elton John’s smooth voice and soft piano whispered in their ears. Craig’s chest felt pleasantly tight as he let himself stare at Tweek, who’s eyes had shut, losing himself in the song and humming along to melodic swell of lyrics. What was happening inside of him was very unusual for him. Rarely did he feel a connection with anyone—he could count on two fingers his past romantic partners, and the only people he interacted with that exceeded acquaintance status were from his hometown an hour away. Only one had followed him to OSU, and he was insanely busy. He never minded being lonely, as this allowed him to be the boring asshole he was in peace. However, he couldn’t deny how scarily nice it was to admire such an interesting person, and brush hips and arms and hands with him.

Still murmuring along with the song, Tweek squinted at the screen that displayed the album cover for _Honky Château_. Craig’s playlist name was listed above the picture, and he read it aloud, “Bops volume six?”

“I like to make playlists,” Craig answered.

“Do you can if I look?” Tweek asked. How on earth would he be able to say no to those huge, soft brown eyes even though he did not entirely feel like exposing his embarrassing music taste to his new crush? He nodded, and Tweek removed the heavy, slightly outdated iPhone XR from Craig’s hand and begins scrolling through the compilation of songs. “You really do like 80’s pop, huh?”

“At least this month,” He mused, watching Tweek peer into his soul through the playlist. It was still slightly terrifying, but it felt so much easier than any other kind of flirting. Verbally, he was not up to par. Tweek was speaking his language—exchanging information and ideas wordlessly, through soft smiles and cheesy songs.

“I like this,” Tweek concluded, baring to capture him in a stare again. “Can you send it to me?”

Craig stomach tied in knots. He blurted, “How would I do that?”

Tweek smirked, enjoying how he was making this _Groot_ of a person flustered and wide-eyed. “I guess I’ll have to give you my number.”

“Okay,” Craig replied lamely, though that grin was still stretching his lips. He flipped over to his messages app and handed the phone to Tweek. His heart was racing as he watched Tweek type in some _719_ number. He lifted a curious eyebrow, “Are you from Ohio?”

“God no,” Tweek scoffed, “Colorado. Just came here for the scholarship.”

“Is it worth it?” Craig joked, pandering to Tweek’s obvious distaste for his home state.

Tweek shrugged, smiling as he replaced the device into Craig’s grasp. “It is now.”

Craig swallowed hard, extremely disappointed when his timer chimed, reminding him he needed to go and clock back in. He sighed, silencing the noise, “I have to go. I hope you like my playlist,”—he paused—“Would it be cool if I texted you?”

“It would be very cool,” Tweek assured him, “Thanks for talking to me.”

Craig nodded, stumbling away awkwardly, not entirely sure how to end the conversation. They sent each other waves back in forth before he pushed his way back into the arena. He released that gust of air he had been harboring in his lungs and let the cheesiest, dumbest smile he had ever fallen victim to dash across his lips and he wracked his brain for the perfect first text to Tweek.

When he heard his text notification go off, he no longer had to wonder.

**_tweek: Craig why in the hell do you have deepthroat by cupcake on this playlist_ **

Eyes widened, he frantically explained himself through a reply message. The rest of the night is spent sending messages back and forth, unwittingly beginning a text chain that would never end, and a particular line from the song they had enjoyed together through shared earbuds stuck in his head.

_And I thank the lord there’s people out there like you_

**Author's Note:**

> also, here is Craig’s playlist if anyone is wondering if i had no life and made another playlist for my gay boy!!: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/649vji1Kd7o5Ju4pvKPEKx?si=0SOk9U_wQXeqldLm_FgwmA


End file.
